


Knowledge remained – until it was lost again (and a tomb raider appeared)

by Cap_Sweet_And_Salty_Sadness



Series: Cullrian Tumblr Prompts [17]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternative Universe - Rise of the Tomb Raider, BAMF Dorian, First Kiss, Graphic Violence, M/M, Tomb Raider!Dorian
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-21
Updated: 2017-02-21
Packaged: 2018-09-26 03:27:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9860192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cap_Sweet_And_Salty_Sadness/pseuds/Cap_Sweet_And_Salty_Sadness
Summary: "Maybe I can offer you something more valuable.” The prisoner drew a breath, and Dorian frowned in suspicion. He wasn’t about to offer what he was thinking, was he? “I know what you’re all after.”That made Dorian stop in his tracks. It was true, he was a fast learner and wouldn’t have a problem to get out of here on his own. He’d been in such situation before. Having someone at his side would slow him down and double the risks of being seen. Despite that, knowing the direction to go would certainly help in his mission to gather more information on the Prophet to retrieve the Maker Source and get away from this blasted place once and for all.Things were rarely this easy, sadly.Dorian sighed. Keys were in the locker, he took them and unlocked the prisoner’s cell.--Dorian is a Tomb Raider. Do I need to say more?





	

**Author's Note:**

> A lovely anon sent me a prompt to do a Tomb Raider AU, and despite me not doing prompts anymore, I still had the need to do this one because it's simply genius. As tagged, there's graphic description of violence depicted in this story. If you've played the games, you know how it is and how Lara is an absolute BAMF.

The door was slammed shut in his face, the impact harsher than necessary. “This isn’t over. Cunt!” Dorian shouted furiously at Calpernia. She gave him an evil smirk and left with almost a bounce in her steps.

She truly enjoyed crushing people’s lives on a daily basis.

Dorian hands were still tied behind him. He knew he wouldn’t go very far like this, so he sat down with a huff and swiftly slid his arms under him to bring them in front of him instead. He leaned over his boots and took the small lockpick tools from one of them. These idiots thought that because he didn’t have any weapons, he wouldn’t be able to escape. They weren’t apparently aware of his accomplishments, notably how he regularly managed to kill six men in less than thirty seconds with a bow and two arrows. 

“Perhaps that’s all she knows to be?” The voice that came from the other cell surprised him, but Dorian snorted and continued to twist the small metal tool in the keyhole of his cuffs, not willing to stay one second longer than necessary. 

“I thought I was alone.” 

There was some rattling from behind him as the man moved. “So did I, but here we are. What should I call my new acquaintance?” 

Dorian frowned as he heard the guy talk. He had no time to make friends, not when he had a meeting with sweet vengeance. He still didn’t believe that Gereon could betray him like this and probably was the cause of his father’s death. “Nothing. I won’t be staying.” 

He unconsciously tensed when someone screamed in another room. It wasn’t a happy scream.

“Calpernia has little patience.” 

Dorian scoffed, threw the cuffs away as he got up. “Nor do I.” 

The stranger approached, and he was just behind him, the bars the only thing separating them. “So I see. Nice trick. Can you get us out of here?” 

Dorian threw him a dirty look, almost offended that he would dare ask such question when the answer was obvious. 

Then again they’d never met, because Dorian never forgot a handsome man and he didn’t recognize him. He had a scruffy look going on, dirty and his hygiene neglected from his forced stay in prison, but so was Dorian. Nevertheless, he wasn’t here to flirt but to find the Maker Source. 

“There’s no us. I don’t even know who you are, or why you’re here.” He tried to open the door of the cell, but of course it was locked. “Sorry… I’m not feeling particularly trusting right now.”  

There had to be a way out. There were some planks above the door Dorian could pull, if only he had his bow… He looked around and noticed a weak wall, on the verge of crumbling.  

“You won’t get far without me,” the other prisoner said, observing him from his cell.  

Dorian laughed. “You don’t know how far I’ve come.” 

He heard a huff, but no other remark. Finally. He didn’t need an anchor to slow him down.

What he needed was something to hit the wall with… The pipe installed against another wall was a bit loose, Dorian was sure that with a bit of pressure it would give way. 

“What do you know about them?” He asked as he pulled it, feeling the strain in his arms painfully go up his neck. He was going to be sore. 

“An organization called Templars, ancient and secret. They believe themselves to be doing the work of God.” 

“From what I’ve seen, they’re far from holy.” He almost shouted that last bit when the pipe came free, and he stumbled back. 

“And what do you plan on doing with that?” The man casually asked. He didn’t seem all that anxious to be stuck in prison while another prisoner was being tortured in the next room. Perhaps he was sure Dorian would help him, perhaps it was all a façade.  

“This,” Dorian replied. He smashed the caved-in portion of the wall with his makeshift weapon until the bricks fell. There was a room on the other side, a storage room of some sort, and Dorian spotted a recurve bow with cord. That was his lucky day… well, as lucky as he could be. He was cold, only wearing a Henley shirt with too many holes to be comfortable and to keep any kind of warmth.

“They’ll have heard that.” 

“All the more reason to get out of here.” He made his way on the other side to retrieve the weapon and a bottle of water on the bookshelf on the left. He drank half of it, knowing he’d need the rest later. 

“Is there a way out?” Now there was anxiety laced in the stranger’s voice, his face intent when he saw the bow Dorian was carrying. 

“No, but I found something that might be useful.” 

He aimed, shot a cord-attached arrow at the wooden planks, and pulled in a fluid, practiced movement. The planks gave way easily, and after securing the bow at his back, Dorian jumped and slid out the cell by the opening. The lockers in the room held his equipment, as he quickly figured out. 

“Wait, let me out.” The man didn’t plead, but it was just. The grip on the cell bars was tight, his knuckles white. He didn’t like being a prisoner, as it was expected, but there was something more to it. He didn’t look hurt, but maybe he wasn’t a stranger to torture.

Despite this, Dorian shook his head as he attached his belt around his hips, then the holster around his thigh. The weight of the handgun was reassuring, as was the rifle’s against his back alongside his bow. “I can’t trust you.” 

“We may not be enemies. I can see that.” So he was going with the whole  _the enemies of my enemies are my allies_. 

“I work better alone.” 

“I know the layout, I know the land.” 

“I’m a fast learner.” 

“I’ve no doubt of that… Maybe I can offer you something more valuable.” The prisoner drew a breath, during which Dorian frown in suspicion. He wasn’t about to offer what he was thinking, was he? “I know what you’re all after.” 

That made Dorian stop in his tracks. It was true, he was a fast learner and wouldn’t have a problem to get out of here on his own. He’d been in such situation before. Having someone at his side would slow him down and double the risks of being seen. Despite that, knowing the direction to go would certainly help in his mission to gather more information on the Prophet to retrieve the Maker Source and get away from this blasted place once and for all.

Things were rarely this easy, sadly. 

Dorian sighed. Keys were in the locker, he took them and unlocked the prisoner’s cell. The man stepped out, broader than Dorian had first thought. His blond hair was greasy, his beard untamed, but he had the most interesting eyes Dorian had yet to see. One was a rich brown, the other a much lighter shade – almost golden. Heterochromia, it was called. For some reason Dorian felt unsettled by this, there was something odd with them. It was probably due to the poor lighting.  

“Thank you. I’m Cullen.” 

“Dorian. Take this.” He handed him the radio transmitter. “In case we get separated.” 

Cullen nodded and pocketed the device. 

“We have to move. The guards will come our way any moment now.” He gestured to the entrance, letting Dorian lead the way, and accepted the water bottle thrown his way. He was quick to empty it.

“Do you know the way out?” 

“Yes… I’ve had some time to study this place.” 

“How long were you in that scene?” 

“Long enough to know that Calpernia won’t stop until she’s found what she’s looking for.” 

“The Maker Source? Is it here?” 

“Mmm. Trust must go both ways, Dorian,” Cullen replied with a crooked smirk that both annoyed him and peaked his interest.

 

This was how he found an ally to escape the prison, sneaking most of the time and taking down guards with his bow, and only once needing to blast his handgun around when he wasn’t fast enough in the courtyard and was seen.  

Cullen was faster than him and cleared up a path for Dorian, making him easier for him, but of course things got complicated and they had to be chased around by an helicopter. Dorian often wondered what kind of karma he had in a previous life for obstacles to be constantly thrown in his way for him to overcome them. Death had been closed too many times at this point, so when he finally found his way close to the village Cullen had mentioned, it was to discover Cullen was in fact the leader of this small resistant group. Dorian had wondered what role he had in this, and why he’d been a prisoner of the Templars, and this explained everything. They were natives, guarding this place over generations from outsiders like the Templars who wanted the power of the Maker Source for themselves.

Cullen and Dorian had saved each other’s lives multiple times by then, Cullen had pulled him out of a river when he could’ve left him to drown, and now it seemed it was Dorian’s turn to help him. All those hardships together meant he couldn’t leave without helping his village, Dorian was many things but he didn’t like having debts unpaid. It was even more difficult when Cullen was looking at him like that. 

“I’ll do what I can to help,” he stated, turning his eyes to the sight of the village to hide his expression. The way his insides fluttered at the hand on his shoulder was not a good sign. 

“Thank you, Dorian.” Cullen gave him another one of his crooked smile, the scar across the right side of his upper lip slightly pulling his mouth more that way, and Dorian stared at it for longer than was appropriate. 

“It’s the least I can do.” 

“Then the least _I_  can do is offer you a meal and a place to refresh yourself before the troops arrive. Come with me.” 

He gave some orders to his second, Cassandra, before he led Dorian through the village. It was built on top of ruins of Kitezh, skeletons of what used to be grandiose buildings now barely held together. The houses, as few as they were, were made of wood and sheet metal with a stone path zigzagging in one assumed what had once been a straight line. Mountains covered in snow surrounded the valley, and despite not being as cold as up there, Dorian felt a shiver run down his spine. He didn’t like the cold, had more than enough of it already. He couldn’t believe that these people had been fighting outsiders for decades and had remained without technology, nested in the middle of nowhere. They had weapons and battle arsenal, but no electricity line, no running water. They came across a generator, but it wasn’t even in used at the moment. These people’s life resolved around defending the ones they loved and nothing else. It baffled Dorian, to say the least.

Cullen’s house was right by the village’s garden where Dorian spotted big bright pumpkins, before he followed the leader inside. It was small but filled with interesting trinkets and lots of pottery. Dorian’s archeologist senses peaked at that, and he was investigating the objects before he thought that it might be disrespectful. Cullen didn’t seem to mind, fortunately, and Dorian was lost in his own little world until a steaming bowl was pressed in his hands while he was deciphering some old Greek on a vase. 

“Here. Careful, it’s very hot.” 

“Thank you. Have you been collecting these?” 

“Retrieved from Kitezh’s ruins, mostly. Is this what you do, finding and studying what was lost?” 

“I’m an archeologist, yes, but this expedition is a little bit more personal. My father died in his attempt to find the Maker Source.” 

Cullen frowned, swirling the spoon in his own stew. “I’m sorry for your loss.” 

Dorian shrugged. “Nothing to be sorry for. He died years ago and we never were that close.” 

“Then why try to finish what he started?” 

Dorian sighed. Was he going to tell this almost-stranger his life? For some reason it was very easy to talk with Cullen, he seemed interested to hear what he had to say. “My father never approved the fact I’m gay, to put it simply. He thought it was better for me to hide my preferences and marry a woman to continue the family’s legacy rather than let me be happy with whoever I choose.” 

“I’m sorry to hear that. It must’ve been awful, to be rejected by him for something you have no choice over.” 

“He didn’t see it that way. No matter, it’s in the past, and I want to accomplish what he couldn’t. He was stopped by the Templars, but I’ll kill them all if I have to.” 

“With your fighting skills, it would not be impossible. Trouble seems to follow you around, however.” 

“Mm, you don’t know how true your words are.” Dorian smiled. They continued to eat in silence. 

“Why stay here, Cullen? You mentioned fighting for years to defend the Source. Why not destroy it to stop anyone of using its power?” 

Cullen didn’t reply right away, and was it a light blush on his cheeks? “My father, my grandfather, and his father before that, they all lived here to defend the temple. I don’t know anything else, I barely know about the outside world, but from what I’ve seen of it, I’d rather stay here.” 

Dorian nodded, understanding. He cleaned his bowl with some warm, soft bread. Perhaps they didn’t have electricity, but whoever the cook was knew how to do their job. It was delicious, and Cullen gave him another serving with a chuckle when Dorian asked. Then he proceeded to remove his jacket and shirt without a care. Dorian almost swallowed his bread whole, but he hid it in a cough.  

Cullen had a soldier’s body, defined with bulging muscles and scars from bullets and blades. He had some dried blood on his arm and on his neck, but it wasn’t his, as there was no wound.  

“Breaking it would mean the lives sacrificed for it were for nothing, and I couldn’t be the one allowing that.” 

Dorian slid his eyes down his shoulder blades to his tapered waist, then shifted them with a silent groan and began to remove his weapons. He put them on the table, aligning them in order so he could clean them. The climbing axes were the worst, littered with old crusty blood and dirt. Perhaps he shouldn’t use them both to climb and to kill. Cullen cleaned his face and his upper body while he swept an oiled cloth on the axes, wiping them the best he could.  

Certainly Cullen knew how attractive he was, half naked and washing the worst of the grime. Water dripped along the planes and curves of his chest and disappeared in the dark material of his trousers. He dried himself and tied his long blond curls into a messy high bun. 

“It’s not much, but I’ll change the water so you can refresh yourself.” 

“Thank you.” 

Washing away the blood and the mud from his face greatly helped to feel like himself again.

“I got you a warmer shirt, I noticed you shivering.”

Dorian wiped his eyes and accepted the clothes. It was a thick long-sleeved shirt with a fur collar, much warmer than what he’d been wearing so far. By the time he was done Cullen had dressed up as well, to his disappointment and relief.

“Thank you for that, I needed a bit of a break after so many explosions and free falls. I’ll go have a look around and help as much as I can.” 

He grabbed his gear and headed outside after a last nod. He was tired, but he feared that taking a nap would only result in sleeping like a log with no one able to wake him. 

“Dorian.” 

“Mm?” He half turned and was surprised when Cullen came close to him, much closer than was necessary. Dorian adjusted his rifle’s strap to hide his sudden nervousness.

“Thank you. You are a great ally I am honored to have at my side. I always disliked the outside world for I always fought what came from it. But perhaps it isn’t so bad, if you’re in it.”  

Dorian’s eyebrows shot upwards. He was at loss for words, but before he could even mutter a thank you, Cullen had gone beet red and was walking up the path the way they came. 

He was impressed at how he could be so sure of himself when he sputtered those ridiculous words and not seem to regret them despite everything. They’d known each other for a week only and Dorian owed him his life more times that he could count. 

 

Climbing precarious surfaces and jumping from dangerous heights were one of his specialities, so it was only natural he was sent to light up the fire pit on top of the signal tower to alert the other native groups of the Templars’ arrival. Dorian stood on top afterwards to admire his surroundings. The valley in the middle of the mountains and the sea at his feet, the sun gleaming at the water’s surface… it was breathtaking. The air was crisp and chilly, and he breathed in. He was alive. Despite everyone trying to end him, here he was standing, alive and well. The thought was worth a moment to take in.

Dorian made his way back to the village afterwards by sliding along a zip line, only to discover Templar troops were already assaulting it. He came across some of the soldiers pushing natives on their knees, and among them was Cullen.  

Fear coursed through Dorian. He hadn’t even felt that kind of fear when he’d been himself in dire situations, but seeing Cullen in danger… he hated it. Hands pressed to the top of his head, their eyes met, and Cullen subtly shook his head, meaning he was going to handle this.  

The soldiers were asking for the Maker Source, shot one of them when nobody answered. A man got scared and admitted that there was an Atlas in a tower nearby.

The soldiers went to ask about the Atlas, and by that, they loosened their guard. Cullen took the first opening to twist around and take the shotgun from the nearest mercenary to smack its handle into his jaw. Dorian n at him and smoothly caught the weapon when it was thrown at him. They didn’t have time to talk and only exchanged a nod before rushing through the nearest house to take down the enemies. 

Dorian had forgotten how exhilarating it was to use a shotgun as someone was rushing at him, making them fly backwards, defeated. The Templars barely had any tactic and were instead trying to outnumber Dorian, forgetting the fact Cullen was close behind. 

Dorian entered the nearest house and rolled to take cover behind a crate when two entered by the opposite door. He took a can laying close by and prepared a smoke grenade while they emptied their charger on them, Cullen covered outside the house.

“Is he still alive?” One of them asked, which made Dorian chuckle.

“You bet I am,” he barked, then threw the grenade. It exploded right between them, making them cough and way too easy to get rid of. The mercenaries posed no threat, until they ran outside and were greeted by the man with a firethrower.

“Go, I’ll take care of this,” Dorian gestured at Cullen, already preparing a strategy to take care of the enemy. Cullen seemed like he was about to argue, but instead he just squeezed his arm and quickly ran off. The mercenary turned in his direction, and Dorian took that opportunity to shoot the tanks on his back. The man staggered. Flames did an arc in his direction, and Dorian could only hide behind wooden crates while he reloaded his shotgun. He dashed sideways, ran and dodged the fire to attack the tanks a few more times, his clothes slightly singeing.

“Oh fuck!” was his only warning to get cover. He put his arms above his head to protect himself before there was an explosion too close for comfort, and he stayed a moment dazed on the cold ground until a hand shook his shoulder.

“Dorian. Are you okay?”

Dorian turned on his back, staring back at Cullen.

“I don’t suppose you have any marshmallows, do you?” He was helped to his feet, Cullen not letting go of his hand right away.

 “You could have died.”

“Nothing unusual.” Dorian shrugged, which made Cullen frown.

“The Templar troups redrew, but they’ll be back.” Despite the fact they won this attack, many natives had been wounded. Dorian helped the best way he could. He was sore and had multiple bruises, but he delivered bandages, helped to transport people when they were too injured to move by themselves and assisted however he could. Cullen was crouched over someone when he found him later on, and he sat down with him as he watched him work.

“I’m sorry for your people,” he finally said.

“It’s our choosen path, our duty.” Cullen’s face still looked grim, his brows set in an angry manner, and Dorian saw a flicker of guilt in his eyes before it was hidden.

“The Templars won’t stop.” It was a fact. Dorian had been here only a few days and they had little to no rest, he couldn’t think of a lifetime doing this.

“I doubt it. They have many resources.”

“What about the Atlas?” Dorian inquired. They rose up, Dorian trying hard not to stare too long at how many wounded had been installed here.

“It’s an ancient map to the old city, but the Templars won’t find it at the tower.”

The said tower was higher in the mountains, barely visible from where they stood.

“Many of my people live in those ruins,” Cullen continued. “They won’t be prepared for what’s coming.”

Dorian knew what he wanted to ask him, knew it from the despair in his eyes and the set of his mouth, but he was scared of the answer. Perhaps help had been denied to him and his people before, or perhaps he was afraid of pleading a stranger, and that decided for the archeologist. He was nodding before he was thinking about it.

“I can help them, Cullen,” he said, watched those broad shoulders sag with relief. His face relaxed, even as his eyes became inquisitive and he took a step forward.

“Would you do this for us,” Cullen gestured behind him, “or for that which you seek?” 

Dorian let out a breath when he realized how close they were. “Right now, they’re one and the same.” 

They stared at each other, their hand still clasped together, and Dorian was tempted to pull him against him and kiss him senseless. He swallowed the need down, Cullen didn’t feel the same and probably wasn’t even into men to begin with.

“I’ll just— “ His heart thumped hard in his chest when Cullen brought a hand against the back of his neck and pressed their foreheads together, the tip of Dorian’s nose touching Cullen’s. He gripped the back of his shirt, not sure of Cullen’s intention.

“Don’t die out there.” His voice was croaked with emotions, other words left unsaid. Dorian let out a breath that washed across Cullen’s lips, and he went almost cross-eyed to follow the movement of his tongue when he wet them. There was no way he was misreading this now.

He was about to give in to the temptation and kiss him when they were interrupted by the arrival of some of Cullen’s men. The leader subtly sighed in disappointment – a gesture that absolutely did not make Dorian grow hot with desire and _need_ – and stepped back, letting his hand go after a last touch of his fingers along his neck.

“I’ll join you with reinforcements, after I’ve tended to the rest of the wounded.”

Dorian could only nod in silence. They would have time for this, later. Dorian would see to it, because he was tired of losing everyone in his life. He would put an end to the Templars, to Calpernia and Alexius if it meant the natives would be free of them.

He gathered resources, made some more arrows and bullets and began his journey to the tower, to the Atlas. He wasn’t fond of swimming through dirty ponds and step in dangerous caves, but the passion of archeology was stronger than his distaste of getting himself dirty. Mud washed away, bruises and wounds healed and disappeared, but knowledge remained forever – until it was lost again and a tomb raider entered the scene.

Of course the ruins were already invaded by Templars who hadn’t wasted time to start killing the natives and destroying centuries old buildings to achieve their goal. Dorian went stealthy and took down most of them with his bow, strangling them with it or putting them down with his knife if necessary. An explosion made the floor fall underneath him with a yelp. He hit the ground hard, and for a few, agonizing seconds, he thought he went deaf. Fortunately, his head cleared up, and he was sure he wouldn’t head the gunshots from further down if he was indeed deaf. He forced himself to get up and continue, stumbling a bit around at first, but his resolution always made him recover fast.

Civilians were being killed in cold blood by the mercenaries, and as he watched, one of them even snickered.

“I’ll kill anything that moves,” he stated as if it was the funniest thing, convincing the archeologist even more.

He became ruthless, killing without a second thought. Templars were mercenaries, paid to do the worst of jobs, and they deserved what they got. Despite everything, Dorian didn’t waste time playing with them, his hits were delivered quickly and efficiently. He didn’t dare keep count of how many he killed.

Everywhere he found evidence of the Prophet’s existence, frescos of how he discovered the Maker Source and used its powers to heal people and gather followers. Some frescos even depicted how, from that point, the Prophet and his followers began to be persecuted.

The courtyard outside the tower was under Templars’ control, but nothing that could stop Dorian. He might not be the best at strategy, but it wasn’t the first time he had to improvise with coincidentally well-placed oil barrels. Everything became fire and gun powder; arrows and bullets.

Choppers arrived and were destroyed within a moment, and when Dorian entered the catacombs, the mercenaries were anxious of his arrival. They were scared of him. With reason, and they weren’t even aware of his explosive arrows. The fight turned dirty fairly quickly when reinforcements were deployed, and Dorian would hide and use the environment to his advantage. The pillars were sturdy enough to withstand assaults of bullets, then he would charge with his own rifle.

“He’s still standing. Someone needs to take him down.”

“Come and try,” he taunted, snarling and throwing his climbing axe at someone. It hit. When the shielded men attempted a last assault, it was over in a matter of seconds when he aimed an explosive arrow at his feet.

Dorian was left in the middle of numerous bodies, blood and whimpers. He put away his weapons, his hands steady as he studied the next course of action. He heard deliberated footsteps behind him.

“Dorian…”

He turned around.

Cullen’s clothes were dirty, his hair had escaped from his bun and was looking wild around his face. He took a look at the destruction, at the corpses and the state of Dorian, before he was striding to him. Dorian met him halfway. Their mouth messily met, the impact too hard and teeth dully clinking together, but it didn’t matter. This was perfect. Cullen was perfect.

He faintly realized he had grabbed his arms, squeezing his impressive biceps. Cullen’s lips were opened and he licked into his mouth, felt the soft texture of his tongue and the roof of his mouth. Cullen groaned and circled his arms around his waist to bring him closer, deepened the kiss. His beard was rough against his chin; his lips, soft and supple and needy. Dorian wanted more, needed more. He pressed his front against him, screw the equipment and the holsters digging into them, and Cullen pushed a strong thigh between his.

They separated only because the need to breath became too strong, Dorian even a little bit dazed.

“We might not have another chance of doing this,” Dorian softly said, eyeing Cullen’s lips already. He wondered if he could redden them even further with more biting.

“I was afraid you didn’t deem me worthy of your interest,” Cullen replied, his fingers heavy and warm against the nape of his neck.

“A foolish thought, I assure you. My intentions of helping you and your people weren’t entirely selfless. If you’d been among the casualties, I…” He frowned and stroked the curve of a high cheekbone. “None of this would matter anymore.”

“I fear this battle is far from over, and believe me when I say I’ll live to see it through.” He kissed him again time with a new confidence Dorian found arousing, his tongue slowly pressing his mouth open. They both were dirty, the blood of their enemies drying on their skin, but they clung to each other as long as they dared.

“Will you tell me more about this place?” Dorian asked afterwards. They had found each other, but their quest wasn’t over. The Maker Source had yet to be found.

Cullen hesitated, but his nod was firm as they stepped on the balcony overviewing the mountains.

“There’s something I actually need to tell you…”

**Author's Note:**

> As always, feel free to leave me feedback, it's immensely appreciated. <3 
> 
> You can find me on [Tumblr](http://captain-amoruca.tumblr.com/).


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